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Why I Drank Every Night Last Week

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Benders are a weird thing. Most of the time, they’re kicked off by some traumatic life event: a breakup, the death of someone close to you, or finding out that your starting fantasy quarterback is down for the season. However, every now and then, an accidental bender will sneak up on you. You won’t realize you’re in one until it’s too late. Welcome to my last week.

Monday:

Well, this was pretty simple. I had a case of the Mondays. Sure, that technically doesn’t exist when you don’t have a 9-5 job, and can basically work whenever you feel like it, but I’ve just been conditioned for too long to not fear it. I’m like a dog that still cowers every time someone tries to pet him. I might’ve been away from my abusive corporate owners for years, but that doesn’t mean the lingering effects aren’t there. So sure, I poured some stiff drinks as the sun was going down, and looked forward to the rest of the week.

Tuesday:

Some friends came over for dinner on Tuesday. We grilled out, and had some beers. Like we do on occasion, we set up the folding table and relived the old days by playing some beer pong. Nobody got super trashed, but it’s safe to say we weren’t exactly the quietest group to ever show up at the convenience store to restock the brew supply at one in the morning.

Wednesday:

This is where things got out of hand. I’m not a big beer drinker, although I really should be, because I always bounce back really well after beer-only nights. So, I’m feeling good and I pour a stiff one a bit early because I like to get a little buzz going when I write some of my sillier columns. One drink turned into a few, and the last thing I remember was being awake at three in the morning watching “Bullet To The Head,” and yelling at it for not being a better movie for the talent that it had.

Seriously, with Walter Hill (The Warriors, 48 Hours) as your director, Stallone going back to his gritty, quippy anti-hero roots, the guy who played Han in the “Fast and Furious” franchise as the sarcastic detective sidekick, Jason Momoa as your lead villain (underrated charismatic big guy), Christian Slater as a skeevy lawyer, and the ultimate fight scene being an ax fight (an AX FIGHT!), how do you fuck up and make such a dogshit movie? I don’t get it.

Thursday:

Woke up feeling like a queef dumpster in the middle of the Mojave desert. Spent the entire day feeling sorry for myself, and showering my insides with Powerade. By the time the night rolled around, I was still not feeling super hot, so I figured I’d pour myself a drink for a little hair of the dog. Well, when you live with roommates who also drink, it can kinda be hard to keep your drinking down to a couple of glasses when they’re going harder. Suffice to say, I went well over the amount you’re supposed to drink hungover in order to feel better.

Friday:

I didn’t feel quite as bad as the morning before, but I definitely wasn’t waking up with a spring in my step. You know how on Friday you look back at your week, shrug at the whole stupid concept of life, and just drink? Well I couldn’t very well not do that just because I wasn’t at the top of my game. Plus, we were going to the bar. You can’t not go to the bar on Fridays. I mean you can. I’ve skipped the bar many times. But I didn’t last week.

Saturday:

I woke up on my friend’s couch. In fact, we all woke up in our friend’s living room. By living room, I mean the part of his studio apartment that’s around the corner from his bedroom/kitchen. Our cars weren’t there, and none of us really had anything to do, so we just spent the day playing video games, and pulling pranks on his stupid cats. Now, long stretches of Madden, NBA 2k14, Mortal Kombat, Call of Duty, and GTA V are notorious for making a man thirsty. So instead of going home, we just walked around the corner, bought a bunch of beer, and spent the rest of the night murdering each other on screen.

Sunday:

We had plans to play basketball in the morning. We did not keep them. Instead, we went to Wiener Schnitzel, got five chili dogs each, and went home. Night time rolled around, and I storta took stock of the last several days. At this point, it was pretty clear what had happened. I was on a bender. My body was breaking down, and the chili dogs were mounting a revolution in my stomach. I should’ve just knocked off early, and spent the week recuperating. But I was one night shy of a full week of intoxication. I wasn’t just gonna give up on the last night because I “really probably should have.” So I mustered up all of my misplaced willpower, and drank again.

I don’t have to tell you what happened on Monday, but it wasn’t pretty. I’ve been sober for three days, and I’m still not convinced it’s all out of my system. Now, some might refer to this as a “wake up call.” I’m thinking of it more as an “oopsie poor personal choice.” I’m not saying that drinking heavily seven nights in a row is no big deal, but…well actually that is what I’m saying. I have no justification for myself. I probably won’t do it again soon, but next time I accidentally slip into a bender, all of you degenerates are invited.

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Randall J. Knox

Randall J. Knox (known colloquially to his friends as "Knox") left his native Texas a few years ago, and moved to Los Angeles in his '03 Buick Regal named LeRoi to write movies with his jackass college buddies. His favorite things in life include bourbon that's above his pay grade, mix CDs, and Kevin Costner films. He isn't sure what "dad jeans" are exactly, but he knows he wants a pair.

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